


Heaven Beside You, Hell Within

by Kami_Inu



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, BelleMoth, Broken Family, Bullying, Dark Comedy, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hell, High School, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, One-Sided Alastor/Charlie, One-Sided Charlastor, Original Character(s), Poker, RadioBelle, Self-Harm, Songfic, Supernatural Elements, chaggie, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23443915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kami_Inu/pseuds/Kami_Inu
Summary: “So there's problems in your life,That's fucked up,But I'm not blind.I'm just see-through faded,Super jaded,Out of my mind...”Vaggie's life is going nowhere fast. Already eighteen and on the cusp of graduation, she's still surrounded by uncaring classmates and teachers in a dead-end city, plus tethered to a lousy drunkard father. Right now, she's just fighting to survive.Enter the 'Hazbin Hotel' on one gloomy, rainy day, run by Charlie Magne, an enigma of sunshine and positivity. Brightening the young girl's monochrome world with an unexpected gasoline rainbow, along with her cast of curious characters, Vaggie winds up with a part-time job, a much-needed escape...and possibly, anewlease on life?Or at least, what's left of it.
Relationships: Alastor & Charlie Magne, Charlie Magne & Vaggie, Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. Cradles

**_“Got dirty little lullabies playing on repeat,  
Might as well just rot around the nursery and count sheep.”_ **

It wasn't the shrill siren of her alarm that invaded her hearing, first thing upon awakening to a new day. No, instead it was the ominous rumble of distant thunder, somehow piercing enough to stir her from a murky slumber.

With faded, tattered dreams giving way to the sensation of soft fabric, squeaking springs and a solid block of stuffing, the figure in the messy bed slowly rose. Letting out a large yawn under her breath, a pale face lifted skywards. It took a moment after her soft golden eyes had opened before she could actually see the sight outside her window; first, she'd had to turn, and then brush the choppy, ash-white chunk of bangs from one half of her vision. 

As her gaze settled and cleared, her brow furrowed, while another low roll of nature echoed across the thick canopy of grey clouds. Just her luck that the weather would go to hell today. Not that there was anything really waiting in store for her – nothing positive, anyway. She just didn't need the threat of future rain looming over her head, already weighed down by a reality that she couldn't divorce herself from – not as easily as her parents had split from one another, at least.

Swinging her legs over the bare, scuffed wooden floor, Vaggie, full name Vagatha, had finally resigned her mind and body to another round through the grinder. Slapping a hand preemptively over her clock, she shut off the set alert, and took note of the time – just coming on to 6:45. Stepping down, she winced at the chill which greeted her toes, but proceeded to walk across towards the far foot of her bed, against the wall where her dresser faced her. Fumbling in the drawers for some suitable attire – more thickness than usual, that was all – she began to undress, doing everything in her power to ignore the battle-scarred, waif-like reflection that followed her every movement. 

In a minute or two, she was fully clothed, and slightly more willing to deal with the girl who stared back at her with a hollow gaze. Shaking her head to settle more of the loose, long strands, she dragged her plastic brush through her locks, barely wincing at the tugs on tangles and yanks from deep within her scalp. It wasn't any sort of discomfort to acknowledge. There was far worse to experience out in the world. Only a few soft Salvadoran curses slipped past her lips, a personal quirk from her Mother's heritage.

Once she was generally satisfied with her appearance, Vaggie turned away, glad to be rid of herself in her own sights, if only for a little while. Shrugging on her backpack over her thickened shoulders, thanks to a grey downy coat, she shoved her feet into a well-worn pair of black boots, which were then immediately dwarfed by the bottoms of her baggy, patchy blue jeans. 

Pulling the laces for good measure, she carefully left her room, making sure to close her door without the slightest hint of a catch to the frame. Looking to both ends of the short hallway, she began to creep towards the staircase, stepping gingerly upon each one as if she were afraid it would break under her weight. Her tense, uneasy trek did not end once she reached the ground floor. Glancing around yet again, barely even daring to breathe, she tiptoed in the direction of a dim, shady, and cluttered kitchen. 

So far, so good. The scent of tobacco and booze wasn't nearly as strong in the air as it usually was. Possibly, **_he_** was asleep in his room, and had been so for a while now. Hopefully, he'd stay that way for the rest of the day, and maybe even through tonight. Depended on how much he'd drank the evening before. 

If she was really lucky, he hadn't even come home last night. And the house would still be empty when she got back from school. The only downside to this was the unexpected arrival time; it was entirely possible that she'd return, and he'd finally be there, ready and waiting to ambush her upon stepping through the front door. That was just the chance she'd be taking, whether or not it was of her choosing. 

Vaguely, Vaggie wondered, if she'd been anything close to a gambler, would her luck at a parlor be any better or worse than it already was on a daily basis. Considering the odds so far, along with her woeful lack of money, she wasn't about to risk it. Her attention was now focusing on finding something to eat, in either the fridge or cabinets, all while continuing her regular stealth mission.

“Ugh...” There were a few slices of bread left in the bag, but most of them were starting to grow mold. Managing to find a couple that were, as far as she could see, still good, she gingerly pulled them out, and chucked the rest in the overflowing garbage bin. Should she take it out now or later? She wasn't running late, it was just a matter of not raising a ruckus. If she could do it now, she'd be saving herself the trouble of having to deal with it upon her return. 

Even better...he wouldn't be able to come after her for it, if he happened to be home, and just wasted enough to play the role of pissed off parent. She'd be clean of that charge, at least. 

Placing the two pieces on a small plate that she'd been able to find in the cupboard above the sink, she proceeded with the task of garbage disposal, into the bin outside. They didn't have a rear door, so she had to exit from the front, passing the open garage. The car was still there, but that wasn't a guarantee of anything. Sometimes, he drove drunk, while at others he was functional just enough to walk to and from the local bars.

After washing her hands, Vaggie found the butter and a knife, spreading it over the two slices. There was a bit of orange juice left in the carton, but she'd already made two new things to be cleaned up. With the rest of the dishes in the sink, she wasn't about to add on an extra cup. Praying to who, or whatever might have been listening that he hadn't been that gross as to drink straight from it, Vaggie finished off the rest of the juice. She'd chuck the carton outside when she left.

Eating her food in silence, the current dilemma that wracked her brain was: to wash dishes, or not to wash them. Again, she was walking a tightrope with both options; if she did it now, she wouldn't have to deal with them later. He'd have nothing to chastise her for, nothing obvious anyway. The only risk was, if the rushing water would potentially wake him up, or if he might just wake up while she was still here, no sound required. If he was here. She was as yet unsure about that, and she wasn't going to try searching for him, either. Not unless she had a death wish.

If she left it for later, she'd have to hope that the house was empty upon her return. Otherwise, if he were around, he'd have something to say about it soon enough. The stupid bit was, the majority of the dishes made were from him. Vaggie didn't eat much as it was. The asshole spent most of the money he received on himself. If she were lucky, he'd throw her a five, or some funds for the market when they were running out of everything. Then, he needed her to serve as personal labor. But she could attempt to save the change, as long as he was either passed out when she came back, or too drunk to ask. 

She was already eighteen, her birthday had come and gone the month before. She was more than eligible to look for work. And she wanted to, so. _Badly._ To make some money for herself, enough to live off of, and even...enough to finally move out of this rat-trap, and be free. To no longer be under the iron rule of an intoxicated bastard, who expected nothing less than slavery out of her, on all fronts. 

A clean life, obtained by forever dragging his daughter through the mud, and squashing every last trace of spirit from her...in whatever way he could. Swallowing hard and trying not to shudder involuntarily, Vaggie slid off her bag, and rolled up her sleeves. She'd get those dishes done now. She still had time.

The one problem, was having and keeping a job, both in showing up regularly, and not letting him find out that she was planning a great escape. She already knew his thoughts on the matter: he wanted her to stay here, like an indentured servant. They'd 'live off' of his monthly checks, and she would exist for him and him alone in her function. It was something akin to a miracle that he still allowed her to go to school as-is. 

Yes, it would've been...if school hadn't been its own special brand of shit-hole.

Managing to get through the pile of dirty dining ware without incident, Vaggie was finally ready to leave. Glancing at the clock in the cluttered living room, she saw that it was 7:30. Crap. Looks like it had taken longer than expected to eat and clean up. Now she had to worry a little more. If she caught all of the lights, waiting at the crosswalks would definitely eat into her time. 

Washing off her hands once more and wiping the excess water on her jeans, she made her way over to the doorway, pulling a small keyring off the nearby push pin in the wood. Upon stepping outside, she closed the door with barely a whisper, and locked it with her own soft sigh. Now. _Now_ she didn't have to sneak around any more. From here until she reached the campus, she was a free bitch.

Straightening up where she stood, and feeling her spine crack and shift into place, Vaggie set out once again, a veteran soldier against a war of the world itself.

Or, at least, high school.

**…...**

The traffic lights were a mix of go's and stops, though when she did have to wait, the pauses seemed to last an eternity. By the time she reached the campus, there were about ten minutes or so until the first bell. That wouldn't have been too bad, if Vaggie hadn't needed to navigate the thick crowds, grab and replace things in her locker, and then make it to her homeroom, up a floor and down at the very end of the hall. And that wasn't taking into account if anyone decided to make a nuisance of themselves, either indirectly or otherwise.

So, taking a deep breath, she lowered her head and hunched her shoulders, hoping that an office visit wasn't on the agenda for today. 

It wasn't as though anybody here really knew who she was. Even if she'd lived in the area all her life, attended the local institutions, and already nearly reached the end of her tenure at the high school. She hadn't left much of an imprint, or made any sort of impact. She wasn't excessively hated, but she sure as hell wasn't popular. Most kids didn't know her name, and the ones who did, who actually shared classes with her, were people she'd have much preferred to forget her entirely. 

Eventually, making her slow barrel through the waves of the morning rush, Vaggie arrived at her locker. It was a rusty shade of green-grey, with a heavy black and silver combination deadbolt. To one side were the faint traces of scotch tape, while on the other was a partially torn away sticker. Based on what she could determine of the remaining design, it appeared to be a generic yellow happy face. Most likely, it had been stuck there back in the '90's. 

Jimmying the lock and turning the knob, the door opened, and with a flurry of thickened motions, Vaggie did her best to switch her books and papers in and out as quick as she could. From the corner of her eye, she saw a group of students sauntering over, one who she recognized as her locker neighbor. She wasn't looking to be unintentionally pinned by slackers who didn't really seem to care about their education, or the concept of 'personal space'. So it was in her best interest to get a move-on.

Taking a beeline down the hall to avoid the oncoming cluster, Vaggie maneuvered around the writhing bodies, quietly desperate for the wide stone staircase. The floors were all linoleum tile, but the steps, for whatever reason, were shaped entirely out of battered gray cement. Falling down – or up them, which she had done both of on at least one occasion – was a real pain, and not just in the ass. The bruises and sore spots had lingered for a couple weeks afterwards. 

Why she had any sort of care towards her schooling, Vaggie couldn't explain. She wasn't an honor student, but she wasn't failing her classes, either. She was just...there. Average. Another name, another face, another body on the roll call, occupying a seat, day in and out. She didn't struggle, but she didn't excel. 

If she were able to pursue formal education beyond this, at most she'd be applicable for community college. But since she had no real motivations, she wouldn't even know what to pick for the most basic degree. And, on top of that, she didn't have the funds set aside to get her off the ground for future lessons. So, straight into the workforce it was. A small comfort: even if she wound up doing something menial, she'd still be getting paid the bare minimum. She didn't need to be rich, only capable enough to pay her bills and daily needs. That was more than satisfactory for her.

Just as she made it through the door to her homeroom, the first bell rang out. As she was about to let out a small sigh of gratitude under her breath, however, a sharp shove to her right side sent her stumbling, nearly over an empty desk in the front row. She was lucky for the extra layer her coat provided. Following the snickers, Vaggie turned her head, hair still shading her eyes, and came face-to-face with one of those said people she wished would just forget she existed.

The girl was now sneering at her, lanky body propped at a sassy angle. Brown eyes surveyed her with distaste, as the sleeve of her basketball jersey slid down the shoulder of her white t-shirt. Bearing a gangster-tomboy aesthetic, her dark curly hair was pulled away tight in a bun. Devonee, a so-called 'class clown', who didn't give a rip about being sent to the office, but had the respect of the students and most of the teachers, for being outgoing and, in their views, 'normal'. 

It didn't matter if she and Vaggie had been sharing schools since fourth grade, or that she'd been picking on her the whole time. Why her, she had no clue. But as soon as they'd laid eyes on each other, it was all downhill from there. From name-calling to pushing around, spreading rumors, and messing with her property. The older they got, the further the actions and verbal slings escalated. And this followed her through two other classes here too, even now that they were in their final year. 

In the eyes of the system, it was Vaggie's fault for just...being herself. For looking or acting or sounding like somebody who made the perfect 'target'. If she could just 'not' be that way, whatever way that was, then she wouldn't bring these sorts of things on herself. If she spoke up more, if she only smiled, if she wore better, fancier clothes, instead of the scrappy, baggy attire she'd tried to keep together over the years. 

If only, if only, if only...

“Well, if it isn't Va-gi-nee-tha. Good, I needed a laugh today.” Vaggie could only turn away, attempting to tune out the taller girl as she shuffled her way between the rows of desks, towards her seat in a far corner. For whatever reason, the class went by first names instead of last, so, starting with 'V', Vaggie was blessed with a back seat, away from most of her tormentors. Because Devonee, and her stupid vagina jokes and mispronunciations of her awkward name? No, she wasn't the only troublemaker in this room. 

As Devonee continued cracking jokes at her expense - “I bet the pussy's as thick as your hair! You fucking mop-head! Ha ha ha!” - a soft set of giggles drifted into her hearing. Setting her bag on the underside of the desk, dull golden eyes drifted up, to regard the two other girls, a row or so in front, who were eagerly whispering to themselves, casting glances in her direction. One clad in regular clean, perky, pricey garments, while the other seemed to be something of a pseudo-goth. Vaggie described her as such, because any sort of perceived 'darkness' was just an outer, edgy persona. 

Natalie and Alex. The former, Vaggie had known since first grade. She hadn't actually been that bad as a kid. Even after the one time when she'd made Vaggie cry, chewing her out when she'd unintentionally and accidentally ruined her surprise jump scare on another classmate. They just didn't share the same circles. It was around middle school, when puberty began to kick in, that the attitude arrived. 

By the time high school had rolled around, Natalie had formed her own little clique, picking and choosing who was fly, who was neutral, and who was absolutely out. Vaggie, being a nondescript loner, had immediately been labelled as a nobody, who was free game for her unwanted attentions. In the classes that they shared, at least. Sadly, there were at least two periods besides this one which fell under that category.

The latter, Vaggie hadn't met until her freshman year. The sad thing was, they'd almost had something of a friendship. Alex had seemed relatively accepting of her presence, reaching out to talk with her on the first day of school. They'd shared similar music tastes, and in the beginning, Alex had been content with mocking the so-called 'preps' who'd been making fun of them both. 

She'd also been a little too eager for attention and the concept of self-harm, which Vaggie had done everything in her power to steer their talks away from. Still, she'd harbored a fleeting thought, a wisp of excitement that maybe, just maybe, she'd found a friend.

But of course, life – or her life, anyway – would never work out that way. Soon enough, someone got to her, and Alex was young and impressionable. It was already obvious that Vaggie didn't come from any place of status, and add to that the fact that she was already blacklisted as it was? Her tormentors were willing to make an exception for Alex, so it wasn't hard to see why the girl had turned around and stabbed her in the back. As much as Vaggie couldn't blame her, it didn't make her feel any better. 

Now, Alex was cutting up with those 'preps', about how much of a loser Vaggie was, how she was so desperate and needy, how she wanted to be 'cool' so badly, how she'd been so clingy with Alex – no, actually; Vaggie didn't even have a cell phone, and once she'd gotten the faintest whiff of betrayal, she hadn't bothered sticking around. Vaggie may not have been the greatest in social situations, but she wasn't stupid. She could read the writing on the wall. 

Also, Alex was the one who'd always insisted they meet up after school – which Vaggie had caught hell for upon arriving home – and hadn't been able to understand why she had no money to spend on things, or why she wasn't willing to attempt a "five-finger discount". Her life sucked enough as it was; she didn't need a police record to add on top of that. Guess that made her pretty boring, as well.

Thankfully, Vaggie only shared one other class with her, but on the downside, it was the other she already had to spend with Natalie, and Devonee, too. Looks like bullshit came in clusters of three.

The pair in front of her were making no real effort to conceal the fact that they were taking pleasure in her heckling. Although Devonee had mercifully moved on for the time being, Natalie was eyeing her up and down with a little smug smile, while Alex was snickering behind her hand. The last traces of their conversation were loud and clear to Vaggie's ears.

“Look Alex, she actually showed up again. Guess she didn't get the message yet that trash isn't welcomed on school campus.” Pursing her lips, the brunette let out another giggle. “I don't think she could clean herself up even if she tried. Losers are losers for a reason.” 

Nodding eagerly, bleached blonde bang tips swaying as she did so, the other girl chimed in. “Yeah, and I bet you anything, she's gonna go and cry about this afterwards, too. Just like Mommy and Daddy don't love her. Nobody wants her. She's so Emo and pathetic.” Rich talk coming from someone who thought that mental illness made you 'quirky'. Vaggie couldn't as yet find the right combination of words to express just how angry that line of thinking made her. It hit too hard, and too close to home. Even if she'd only be ranting to herself, her tongue was tied.

Forcing her gaze back down, Vaggie allowed a few more muttered Salvadoran curses to pass her lips, as she bent sideways to pull her backpack up from underneath her seat. It was a good thing that they couldn't hear them – an added layer of racism to the insults already being hurled her way was an excess that she could most certainly do without. When it did have to happen, it was simply by the grace of whichever God was in charge that it wasn't nearly as common an occurrence as the rest of the schoolyard abuse. 

Unzipping the top and hauling out her planner in a fumble, Vaggie grit her teeth, ignoring the lingering laughter on the air in front of her. She did her best to focus on something, anything else; the kids beside her who were screaming obscenities at each other and cracking up like it was the greatest invention since sliced bread. 

Bread. They were out of bread. She had to buy more bread. They were running out of food. She needed to buy more food. She wasn't going to ask him for the funds. She didn't know when he'd take notice or realize that they were about to go hungry. She didn't even know if he had any money on hand for supplies to begin with, if he hadn't already spent it all on his precious booze and smokes. 

And just like that, the bell rang. At that moment, as the gathered students began to settle into their assigned desks, the door opened, and the teacher strode in. Planting himself in front of the whiteboard, he began calling out the orders for the day, scrawling notes across the surface with a squeaky black marker. Vaggie had already opened her planner to the labelled page, and was scribbling away. Anything to drown out her lousy morning and cluttered thoughts. 

In five more minutes, the tardy bell would go off too, and then class would finally start. She could answer roll, ignore the assholes who'd respond, and then everyone would just shut up because it was time for focused reading and logging down the number of pages. They would all move on, until it was time to leave for their next lessons.

Pressing her pencil furiously into the lined page, Vaggie was thankful for the thick curtain of hair that shielded her from view. Yet another trait from her Mother; they'd both bore a head of long, full locks. Unlike her own however, her Mother's had been far better maintained. For the first few years, she'd helped Vaggie take care of it, until family matters had eventually consumed all of her energy and focus. 

And then one day, she was just...gone. 

Scratch, scratch. Scribble, scribble. The words on the page almost resembled a foreign language. Running out of lead, Vaggie clicked the eraser, drawing out more and resuming her diligent note-taking. Bell, roll, silence. Bell, roll, silence. Rinse and repeat in her head. Autopilot was a blessed function sometimes. When she was able to shut off and disconnect from the world around her, anyway.

However...she still had the rest of the day to look forward to. She still had to mingle. She still had to interact. She still had to live. She still had to go home.

With a jangling screech, the second bell rang out.

**…...**

She shouldn't have been so eager to leave campus when the end of the day finally arrived.

She shouldn't have been in such a rush to pick herself up off the sidewalk when she'd stumbled over a crack, skinning her palms and ripping a hole in the left knee of her jeans.

She shouldn't have been so frantic to outrun the potential oncoming rain, as the thunderclouds continued to rumble ominously overhead. 

She shouldn't have hurried to jam the key into the door, practically falling against it as it had swung open, revealing the same dingy, haunted abode she'd known for years...

...and her Father, sitting up on the couch.

The rest of the school day had passed by about as well as could've been expected. She'd made it through Homeroom into Science without incident, and then managed to scurry away into the library during morning break. English had been routine and monotonous, and she'd even gotten lucky that, during their out-loud reading session of the current assigned novel, she hadn't been picked. History had consisted of one short test and some book work, and although there was no way she'd aced it, Vaggie was certain that she hadn't bombed it completely. She'd pass.

Lunch had come around following that, and although her stomach was a little sore, she was unable to grab anything from the cafeteria. In all honesty, she didn't want to. She was trying to keep as low a profile as it was; she didn't need any extras tripping her up. Besides, the food wasn't that great – that's what she kept telling herself – and she could deal with the hunger, she'd gone without food for far longer periods of time before. It was fine, everything was fine.

Then...then, along came Math. 

This was one of the two classes Vaggie had to spend with Devonee, and today in particular, the girl had been brutal in her torment. They'd had some book work to complete after having the lesson explained beforehand, and this had proved to be a problem. It was Algebra, and Vaggie had gotten stumped on a few of the equations. She wasn't about to make a scene and raise her hand, but this had been one of the rare days when the teacher had actually been walking between the rows, checking in here and there. 

When she'd reached Vaggie's desk, the girl had taken her chance, and asked for assistance, which her instructor had been willing to provide. That wasn't the bad part. 

Where it had all gone wrong was the moment when Devonee had happened to look up, and catch sight of the teacher leaning over her desk, helping her sort out the problems. A loud, obnoxious laugh had rang out, and everyone's attention had instantly zeroed in on Vaggie. “Bwa-ha-ha! What, Vaj-jie can't count? This ain't even hard, it's so easy! Are you special or something??”

At this, a wave of low chuckles had rippled across the room. Although the teacher had said something in response to Devonee's outburst, it wasn't exactly helpful. “Now, now. Everybody's at different levels when it comes to problem-solving. It's not nice to make fun of those who might need a little bit of help.” Vaggie's head had nearly been face-down in the wooden tabletop, burning with the shame of a thousand fiery suns. She didn't care if she screwed up on this lesson. She just wanted it to be over.

When it was time to turn in their papers, Vaggie had done her best to go up and back to her seat as quickly as possible. But Devonee had still managed to whisper a “Vagina's going to Special-Ed before she gra-du-ates! She's gonna get held back!” as her back had turned. What, it wasn't as though her Math grades were anything to brag about, either! She just got away with not being head of the pack thanks to her personality and overcompensation. 

Of course, Vaggie would never say this aloud...

Once the bell went off, signaling the end of the day, she'd practically leapt from her seat, bag already packed up tight and swung onto her shoulders. She'd been able to leave the room without any further incident there, but she'd had to stop at her locker once more, to grab an extra book. That was where she'd been smacked solidly on the back of the head, legs nearly buckling and causing her to fall into the shelves. 

A loud series of cackles had mocked her then, as Devonee and a couple of cronies had one last laugh for the day at her expense. “Fucking hairy head-case! Maybe you won't be so stupid now!” Vaggie hadn't even cared about the sting in her skull, the lingering taunt in her ears, or the pain in her knees from hitting the inside wall of her locker. She'd just wanted out, right then and there. At least in that house, she only had to deal with one monster, and she had a chance, if but one, to avoid him entirely.

Thus, the series of events that had led up to her arriving home, and coming face-to-face with her next personal demon. It was blatant that he'd already been drinking, from the two open bottles of beer on the filthy coffee table he'd had his feet propped up on. A lit cigarette dangled from his hand, as he'd slowly rose from his seat, lumbering over towards her with all of his stinking mass. Even with his shitty habits and physical state, he could carry himself well enough to get in her way...among other things.

Attempting to slip around him, he blocked her with a hefty hand slapped onto her shoulder, yanking her back a step. The smell of him was God-awful. She wasn't about to mouth off though...not yet, anyway. If he was just going to throw some money at her to go shopping, she could stick it out by him for a couple of minutes. So, biting her tongue, she waited for him to speak. Her hands were throbbing from where she'd fallen, and all Vaggie wanted, more than anything, was to wash them under some cold water. To clean off the blood, the debris, the dirt, the stains, the day, the everything that lingered. She could be clean. She could.

“Oi, good-for-nothing. We're out of food.” Okay, thank you Captain Obvious. Although she didn't appreciate the name, they were off to a decent start. She just needed to wait a little longer, grab the cash, and retreat to her room until he'd left or passed out again. Then, she could take care of business.

“I ain't made of money, y'know.” She'd never said he was. A series of hacking coughs then. “How th' hell are we goin' through so much food so quick? Why th' fuck you eating so much?” So much food? Eating so much?? Vaggie was lucky if she got one meal a day, let alone a snack! Her meager breakfast was long gone from her system, and she still had the rest of the night to deal with! Homework was a bitch on an empty stomach, but she just had to power through it. All he did was drink and smoke and sleep and veg out watching TV! For once though, it wasn't on in front of the seat. 

Trying to pull away without coming across as too forceful, Vaggie turned towards the stairs. She'd had enough of this. “Look, if you want me to make a run for groceries, just give me some money, and I - ”

She didn't get a chance to finish. A fist had gone flying at her head, lit cigarette nearly tangling in her tresses. Jumping and flailing about, Vaggie had just barely avoided both, and was now frantically stomping on the floor, extinguishing the embers. Head shooting up to glare in frustration at the drunkard before her, she took note of the faintest scent of singed hair. “What the fuck?!”

“You goddamn mooch! Always wastin' my cash, eatin' all my food! You don't even buy good shit, and you expect me t'live like this?! Fucking little bitch, just like your Mom! Couldn't cook worth shit, now you want me to starve, too!” More coughing. “I'm sick of your attitude! You're gonna - ”

Vaggie had already begun marching up the stairs, a far cry from her dismal skulking early that morning. She paid no mind to his continued rantings, about how she needed to “get your ass back down here, and – and fucking respect me, you ungrateful brat!” She spared not a glance behind her as she stormed towards her door, yanking it open and slamming it shut. 

Some of the portraits on the walls outside rattled from the force, but she didn't care. Most likely, the jerk would just keep on yelling to himself, until he got tired and either sat back on the couch, or ambled off to his room. After the day she'd had so far however, she was in no mood to put up with this.

She couldn't retort, or lash out. But she could ignore him. Right now she could, anyway. Taking note of her peeling, reddened palms and split denim around her knee, plus the lingering stench of burnt follicles, Vaggie chose to instead drop her bag on the floor beside her bed, shrug off her thick coat, and flop face-down upon the mattress. Burying her head in her pillow, she inhaled deeply. It didn't smell the greatest, but at least she could, at long last, release the scream from her lungs that had been building up from sunrise. 

Breathing hard, Vaggie relished the raw, scratchy sensation in her throat, and the echo in her ears. Rolling over onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling absently. She allowed her thoughts to wander, drifting along over shadows and indeterminate colors as though carried on a breeze. This was the closest she'd ever get to peace, and she'd take advantage of it as long as she possibly could. Until something, someone or other, broke the spell yet again, just like always.

Off in the distance, another low growl signaling the oncoming storm shook the skies over the town. Cursing once more to herself, Vaggie closed her eyes, and sunk away into her much-needed seclusion. For the time being, she would lay her weary head to rest. She could afford to.

She'd clean up later.


	2. It's Raining Somewhere Else

When Vaggie had settled down upon her bed, fully intending to sleep, it hadn't been a lie. That was truly the course of action she'd been hoping to take, now free from the responsibilities of school for another few, fleeting hours, and away from her train-wreck of a Father. 

She'd closed her eyes, rolled over once more, cradled the pillow under her head, and basked in the soft, enveloping comfort of her empty domicile; lonely but welcoming. A personal haven for her demons, but a safe space when she'd had all she could take of the world beyond the four faded walls. At least figurative monsters couldn't actually reach out and hurt her.

Not unless she helped them herself. 

But alas, sleep had not come easy. In fact, it had refused to arrive at all. She'd tossed and turned, this way and that, determined in her languishing to find that one sweet spot, where she could finally let go and sail away. Just a nap, a brief pause, until she had to get up and work through the night on homework without any fuel. Then, in the earliest hours of the morning, she'd finally crash, as long as she had left to before her alarm clock went off yet again, reminding her of her fate – for the next few months, anyway.

That's right. School would be ending soon. And this time, there was no summer vacation. Once June came around, that was it: she'd be graduating with everyone else, and then, she'd never have to see any of those toxic douchebags ever again. If they were really so much better than her as they claimed, then it was highly likely they'd be moving out of state to attend some fancy colleges, or even just moving from home for a change of scenery, some alternate job opportunities than what existed in this one-horse, pockmarked city.

The thought should've brought her so much relief and reassurance. If she could just stick it out until then, half of her potential freedom was waiting for her, just around the corner. No more lessons. No more teachers who didn't care, who didn't understand, who couldn't be bothered to do anything to assist her in her problems. People who were far more inclined to simply turn their backs, and pretend that nothing was happening. 

No more students, who had grown up in such a hands-off, detached sort of generation, where everything was left to either technology or somebody else. Their parents couldn't be arsed to watch them, so they'd just foisted their little writhing bundles of terrifying, youthful issues on the world at large, to do as they pleased. Some of them had more privileges than others. 

So, the damages caused would vary in their intensity. But eventually, the time would come where they couldn't handle what they'd created any longer, and ask themselves “Why me? Why did they turn out this way? I did everything I could for them...”

Either that, or you had the parents who had done all but beat their kids to within an inch of their lives, and mistook fear for respect. Those kids, they walked a fine line, of being impeccably behaved and reserved, to ticking time bombs just waiting to explode and rebel. You never could tell how they'd turn out until they were all grown up...or, the worst had happened.

Then, there was her. Vaggie. Where did she fall on that scale of parental outcomes?

Even if she were escaping the one hellhole of institutionalized learning, there was still the problem of her living situation. She had no money to her name, so her options were ridiculously limited. There weren't even any homeless or abuse shelters anywhere nearby – and who knew if they'd actually take her in, anyway? She'd heard a few horror stories of shelters turning people away, for specialized standards that included things like ethnicity. What that had to do with whether or not someone in trouble deserved safety, she had no idea. 

Being that she was so young, with absolutely nothing to her name, they would just brush her off as a kid who needed to 'grow up, and get used to the 'real world'. She could only scoff at the notion; she wasn't open about her life, but she was pretty damn certain her existence was as far from rose-colored and idealistic as could possibly be. No details were needed. 

She knew that the world was a cruel and scary place...and that the majority of the time, most people wouldn't give a second thought as to what was going on with their neighbors or fellow man. Hers sure as shit hadn't cared, for all the screaming, crying, pounding, and destruction of property behind the door of their two-story. 

Vaggie had no idea what she would do once graduation day had come and gone. All she knew was that right now, she had to find something, anything, to ensure some chance of survival. Today, she'd been lucky. That bastard had been aggressive, but too lazy to do anything worse than the stunt he'd pulled with the smack and the cigarette. She'd seen – and felt – far worse from him, and had the various scars to prove it.

Next to her own, that was.

Eventually, she'd given up chasing the wily specter that was sleep; although she'd been without food for longer before, she'd already gone without eating for a couple days before her meal this morning. So now, the gnawing hunger was starting to grate at her, exacerbating her current stress at being unable to relax, and forget about life for the time being.

The sky was still heavy with the promise of unyielding precipitation and thunder to rival Thor himself, but she had no choice. She needed at least a little something to tide her over. Searching her room, Vaggie managed to fish up some crumpled bills and odd loose change. Shoving it into her pocket, along with the keys she hadn't returned from the morning, she pulled on an oversized hoodie this time around. It was black, with a design so faded, that it was impossible to identify the image. The color to the fabric itself also appeared far more inky green, after so many washes and years of use. 

But, it wasn't like Vaggie could afford to be picky. Now that she wasn't going to be shoved about by the masses of students, she didn't need the extra layer of stuffing that her former coat had provided. She'd just have to pray that she wouldn't actually need to use that hood while she was out, because if it started pouring, she wouldn't be getting much protection at all from the ensuing rage of the elements.

Cautiously poking her head out from around the corner of her door, Vaggie heard nothing but the occasional grumble from the sky. She saw nothing but the gradually darkening hallway, stretching out before her like some sort of tunnel in a temple. Leading to a set of steps which, in reality she knew led to the downstairs level, but in her mind's eye, could just as well have led to a sacrificial pyre. With her usual practiced, creeping gait, she made her way through the winding path, and along the staircase. 

Upon touching down at the bottom, she was greeted with the sweetest acknowledgement: that her Father was no longer in the parlor. The lights were all out, and the second set of keys weren't yet present by the door, either. Perhaps he'd left the house, too? Or, he'd merely gone to his room and passed out without putting them back. Whatever the answer, Vaggie wasn't about to dwell on it. She'd take whatever she could get, as long as it meant her freedom, however short-lived.

Once she was outside again, she looked skyward, golden eyes trained on those looming clouds. Since she lived out in the suburbs, she'd be walking a little distance to reach the nearest shop. The school wasn't close to anything, either. Everything was all tucked away and secluded from the businesses and city life. She knew though, that coming up soon enough on her path was a convenience store, so she had a set destination in mind. With that decided, she began her journey.

Honestly, if she hadn't been looking at things through such a cracked filter, Vaggie would argue that their neighborhood was rather pretty. There was a good deal of greenery and color, tidy lawns and cozy, sizable houses. The random dog barking, either in a yard or out a window. A cat, here and there, on a doorstep or running across the road, to crouch under a parked car. Birds twittering in the trees, or sitting on the power lines, even soaring across the sky above. The animals, at least, brought the faintest hint of a smile to her lips. They might've made a lot of noise, or been quite skittish, but ultimately, animals didn't judge. Not the way humans did.

Just as she'd finally passed the limits of suburbia, and made it past two of the crosswalks leading to the first block of shops, a loud crack boomed overhead. Vaggie didn't need to look up again to know what that meant. In an instant, waterfalls of rain were crashing down on her, and everyone else upon the Earth who was unfortunate enough to still be outside. 

_Fuck!_ Trying not to skid on wet sidewalks, Vaggie struggled to make her way forwards, yanking up her hood, even though it wouldn't do her any good. Everything was soaked straight through. Not only that, but a forceful wind had seemed to kick in out of nowhere. She was being pelted with rain from above, before being bitch-slapped with it across the face. It didn't help that her hair was now thoroughly waterlogged, and clinging to her head and face, as though she...really was a mop that someone had just shoved in a bucket. Jeez, maybe Devonee was right?

 _ **Screw** that!_ Vaggie didn't have time to be feeling sorry for herself. At this moment, she needed shelter, and not just an awning to stand under. She needed somewhere she could wait out the storm and catch her breath; it would be impossible to navigate any further in this weather, when she could barely make heads or tails of the ground beneath her feet. 

Squinting her eyes, and slicking back the clump of dripping locks that had fallen over her eyes, Vaggie cupped her hand against her forehead like a visor, ignoring the weight of soggy clothes and the squelch of sloshing footsteps as she desperately tried to find anything in the nearby vicinity that could signify some sort of public building. After a few more heavy, muddy, marching steps, her gaze caught sight of something high up, to her left, and brightly blinding, even in this torrent. Mostly red, with a few lighter accents, once she drew closer. It was just clear enough to recognize as...

A sign. And not just any sign, either. The building coming into focus was rather prominent; Vaggie couldn't make out most of the details, but what she could identify, was the bottom of that great glowing label. The one that called out to her like a beacon, a lighthouse, drawing her in to guide her to safe passage.

'HOTEL'. It was a hotel. Whether or not Vaggie recognized it, or remembered it, had seen it before on any prior treks through the area – she didn't care. All that mattered was, if luck was on her side for once, she'd found her temporary haven. Just long enough to collect herself, and then she'd be on her way. Hopefully, she wouldn't drip too much onto the floor. Hopefully, that floor wasn't carpet. Hopefully, they wouldn't send her back out when they realized she wasn't a paying customer.

It felt like forever, but eventually, Vaggie had reached a set of rather ornate double doors. Focused entirely on the light within, beyond the stained glass windowpanes, she pushed them open with all of her strength, and stumbled inside. It took a few moments for her to catch her breath and readjust, as her filled-up boots took in the feel of stable...carpet. Great.

But, at least it was quiet. Warm, too. The faint smell of cleaning product, smoke, liquor, and some sort of food wafted around her nostrils. Standing up as straight as she could manage, Vaggie swept her sticky locks out of her face once more. Carefully opening her eyes, she could at last see what she'd walked into. 

The first thing that greeted her: light. So much light. Not glaring, but enough as though to give the interior an impression of...being _alive_. Had she ever seen a building that could be considered as such? The hues themselves weren't even that flashy; there were a _lot_ more shades of red to be found, along with deeper hues of blue and green, grey and violet. Nothing garish. The residence gave off an all-around, extremely old-fashioned vibe. Like she'd just stepped back in time.

However, that wasn't what had caught her off-guard the most. There, standing before her...

“Hello, and welcome to the Happy Hotel! May we help you?”

**…...**

Although she'd had a feeling that today wasn't going to be quite the same as the last two, she still hadn't been expecting the sudden explosion of a downpour, directly overhead...much less what that outburst would be bringing along in its wake.

No, not 'what' – _who_.

Rewinding just a little, Charlotte 'Charlie' Magne found herself staring wistfully through a stained glass window, seated on a chair she'd dragged over from one of the empty lobby tables. Letting out a soft sigh, her wide, doe-like eyes were shaded by lowered pastel lids, and full, rounded lashes. Her dark lips pursed into a pout, though she wasn't grumpy by any means. She was just...bored?

It was day three since the 'Happy Hotel' – her hotel, to be exact – had set up residence on the outskirts of this city. It was small, and relatively in the middle of nowhere. But, considering their line of work, perhaps subtle was ultimately better than being sandwiched directly among the hustle and bustle of a more populated locale. 

Besides...in places like these, where most others tended not to go, or even forget entirely...it was far too easy for folks to get lost, and fall through the cracks. That's what she and her business were here for: even if they couldn't stop the downward spiral, they'd at least be waiting to catch them at the bottom.

The 'Happy Hotel' - though the sign outside was labeled 'Hazbin Hotel' - was a place of solace and rehabilitation. Something like a clean and sober program, or even a halfway house, minus the extreme overabundance of rules and clinical setting. Basically, their purpose was to welcome in struggling, wayward souls, who were down on their luck but genuinely willing to make an effort at getting better. It was set up like a hotel, since hotels were mainly full of people going in and out, which is what she was hoping for those who came through her doors. That they would come in weary, and leave refreshed, ready to ascend to their next stage of...life. Their existence.

Also, if one were to really look at it, a hotel could be looked at as a place of new beginnings, since often times, those who stayed in them were starting things like vacations, or simply looking for shelter between transitions, like traveling through various areas. No matter how long they stayed, as long as she could help even just one person, Charlie would be satisfied.

She'd had the idea for this place for quite some time, though it had taken a while before she'd finally reached a point in her life where she felt ready and able to commit, making it a reality. She knew she'd be going up against some serious opposition – namely, her parents themselves, or mainly her Father, along with the entire region where she'd grown up.

Charlie came from a background of prestige, power, and privilege. When she was old enough, it was assumed that she'd follow in her folks' footsteps, and continue the tradition of their various businesses. Not just her family, but her whole environment, when they bothered to focus on her at all, were expecting this of her. 

However...Charlie wasn't quite one for 'expectations'.

Her parents had the positions and status they did through their bloodline and the work they were involved with. And yes, they'd labored very intensively to keep everything running smoothly, especially once she'd come into the picture. Their occupations were by no means easy, even if they were lucrative, and her folks enjoyed the grind. 

But...no matter how many fancy affairs or official meetings she was dragged along to, or how many history lessons she'd had to sit through, hearing time and time again about both her family heritage as well as that of the land. No matter how often she'd been forced to take notes, and prepare grand speeches towards her future, proving she'd absorbed what was expected of her. This had been her life, for what felt like hundreds, maybe even thousands of years, by this point. Monotony and restlessness were one hell of a combo. And it had never quite sunk in.

At her core, Charlie had a big heart. She was an idealistic bleeder, with a streak for entertainment. Some of the only times she'd truly felt happy, and like herself growing up, were when she'd been brought to her Mother's dress rehearsals, either in their personal theater, or outside of their residence. Since they were ridiculously wealthy, her Mother could afford to indulge in such a hobby. 

However, that wasn't to scoff at her talent. Lilith was a fantastic dancer and actress with a pristine voice, and she'd always encouraged Charlie to join in with her. Those had been wonderful memories to share; gliding across the stage, lyrics to all sorts of tunes ringing out through the auditoriums. Such passion and current had bloomed between the two of them, and it had only continued upon Charlie witnessing Lilith's actual routines in front of sold-out crowds. Whether they were pre-arranged projects that she'd been tapped for, or her own wondrous creations, everybody was certain to attend if her name was mentioned.

Performing was one of the only things that had made Charlie smile all while growing up, both with her Mother, and during those times when she was actually free to spend them by herself. She'd sing all of her favorite songs, and even attempt to create some of her own, all while spinning and twirling around her room or the property. She didn't really have anyone else to share this with; adults were adults, and adults were busy. Plus, most of the other kids had a tendency to keep away from her and her place, being rather intimidated by their estate and her family. Gradually, as she'd grown older, that hesitation had grown into high-class mocking from a distance.

The older she'd gotten, the more Charlie had begun to realize, that not only did her heart not lie in her parents' profession...but that she wanted to do something considerably far out of the norm from someone like her, born into her circumstances. It was shortly after she'd become an adult, that the thought had fully manifested, taking hold of her with such fervor and force:

She wanted to help others. She wasn't interested in lining her own pockets further, or staging brutal takedowns of other companies and establishments, as her own family was want to do. No, she wanted to give back to others, and not in the normal way, either.

Every once a year, in her homeland, there was an event which was called the 'Purge', or 'Extermination'. For twenty-four hours, all who wandered the streets were subject to violent attack, being brought down into custody – or even death, mostly death in fact – by outside forces. Another region entirely, situated above theirs in location, who'd decided how long ago that enough was enough. 

Charlie's realm had a reputation for being unruly and lawless, to a dangerous degree; perhaps, because she'd grown up so sheltered, she didn't see it the same way. Or possibly, since she'd been raised to believe, with her family in the position that they were, that these were her people, they weren't just nobodies and crooks in her eyes. They deserved a chance to find something better, to be free to live without being judged. And, with all the resources she had on hand, why couldn't she be the one to do something about it?

Those people, the ones who had appointed themselves as an outside entity of 'law and order' for her region, considered their land and rule to be far above the norm, superior in every way to her own. And to a degree, Charlie had to admit, they were right. Even with the perks she and her family enjoyed, it was nothing compared to the opportunities that this upper level enjoyed. Better homes, better income, better job opportunities, better health resources, better education...the list went on and on.

But. These folks were not so entirely closed-minded as to look down on her home entirely. They were willing to recognize hard work, and it was this angle that Charlie wished to play at. A way to bring her people into the good graces of this higher realm, and possibly end the supposed need for the yearly Purge altogether. A method to lower the population of negativity in her homeland, and give more of her people the lives they truly should've lived.

This was where the 'Happy Hotel' had first been conceived.

It had taken a good while – years, even – to finish crafting all the plans and layouts for what she hoped to achieve. From deciding on how the program would work, to how it should be structured, and in what sort of structure it should be contained, and even what sorts of amenities it would include, and how many employees would be needed to help keep it running smoothly. Down to every last fund and detail, Charlie had mapped it all out. And, when she finally felt prepared enough to meet up with her folks face-to-face, she'd point-blank laid out her request to them: to be granted allowance and resources for setting up her 'rehabilitation hotel'.

Her Father had looked her square in the eye...and laughed right in her face. That hadn't sat well with Charlie one bit.

Over the years, the differences between Charlie and Lucifer had continued to grow more pronounced. Whenever she'd needed support or advice, it was Lilith she'd turn to, as opposed to him. Lucifer would often scold his wife for “indulging her silly little daydreams”, but the woman had been content to let Charlie have her fun. Though, she'd somewhat figured her daughter would eventually join them in their practice, so she too had been a bit surprised when instead, Charlie had put forth the idea for the hotel. It wasn't entirely unexpected, but it was still jarring.

The first meeting had devolved into a full-blown shouting match, with Charlie storming out of her Father's office almost in tears. It was the first time in forever that she'd let herself get so worked up, and nearly lost control completely. Lucifer had been yelling after her retreating figure about how “I didn't raise you to turn out this way!” and “How could you be so stupid and selfish? Don't you care about us and the business at all?!” 

And, of course “You're a failure, Charlie! An absolute failure to the family name! Don't waste my time again!” That one, that **last** one...yeah, it had _really_ smarted. 

It had taken well over a few months before she'd even had enough courage to call Lilith, just to check in. She hadn't chewed her out during the failed proposition, but she hadn't exactly been cheering for Charlie's success, either. So, she'd been waiting with bated breath as she'd listened to the line ring, again and again until finally, it had picked up with a click. The relief that Charlie had felt upon hearing her Mother's soft tones over the line had been immeasurable.

Lilith had been far more willing to hear her out until the end about her supposed project. She hadn't said a word throughout the entire presentation through the phone call. Once Charlie was certain that she'd gone over everything, she'd swallowed the growing lump in her throat...and asked her Mother for her opinion. Possibly even, her blessing.

Firstly, she had been honest. “It's certainly not an easy endeavor you're choosing here. The majority of, if not our whole populace, will most likely shun your idea, or even outright rebel.” Yes, Charlie had been willing to acknowledge that. She knew that it was entirely an uphill battle, and that she had her work cut out for her. Even with an eventual location established and publicly announced, there was no guarantee whatsoever that people would give it a chance. 

The residents of her land were comfortable with their rough and rowdy lifestyle, and could've cared less about 'rehabilitation', let alone moving on to something considerably better. To them, there was nothing better. They had nothing to prove to anyone else, and in their eyes, if it wasn't broken, then why try to fix it? 

That was just it, though. They were so used to living this way, and accepting that there couldn't possibly be anything more for them out there. They thought, since they'd wound up down there, that there was no chance of things ever changing, so why bother? Things were fine the way they were. Just acknowledging that fact made Charlie's heart ache. She couldn't stand to see them live with such a bleak mindset. _**Everybody**_ deserved a chance, no matter where they came from. _**Nobody**_ could be truly irredeemable.

“I know Mom, but...I can't just let it go. Yes, it's harsh. Yes, I can't say whether I'll be successful, even once. Yes, I'm putting myself out there, in a very difficult, and maybe even undesirable position.” She'd sighed, blowing a loose strand of hair away from her eyes. Her chest had tightened at her next words. “However...these are my people. No matter how imperfect, this is my home. And whether or not I can ever fully sever my ties to it, I won't go down without a fight, and knowing that I at least tried to help make a difference. Even if I get hurt...I don't wanna see anybody else suffer like this anymore. This is no way to live.”

There had been a pause then, and for a fleeting, frightful moment, Charlie had thought her Mother had finally hung up on her. But, soon enough, a gentle, low chuckle had filtered through the line. Inwardly, the girl had been sighing in gratitude.

“He probably won't admit it, or at least, not right now. In the end though, you and Lucifer are quite similar, in far more ways than one. Although this may not have been our ideal path for you, you're doggedly passionate about it, and thoroughly stubborn in your beliefs.” Another chuckle. “He, of all people, should realize where you get that from.” At this, Charlie had felt just the faintest twinge of a blush creep into her cheeks. Wasn't it her Father, after all, who'd taught her “Don't take shit from others”?

There was a series of muffled sounds in the background, and Lilith had given a short reply to whoever had been talking. Charlie's heart had begun to race then. Their call was coming to an end, and she still had no clue on where she and her ambitions stood here. “Mom...?”

The response was swift. “I can't deny your enthusiasm, nor your optimism. Whether or not it's misguided, no matter where we come from, I can't fault you for caring about others. Even if it's not fruitful, I won't disparage you from giving it a shot.” Charlie's heart had swelled with joy upon hearing this, along with her final words. “It might take some time, but I'll talk with Lucifer. If anything, we can at least help you get set up and started. You'll have to figure out the rest on your own, but you've been quite thorough in your plans so far. I'm sure you've got it covered.” 

The smile in Lilith's voice and words had been more than enough to reignite Charlie's as she'd offered her final thanks and goodbyes. “Thank you so much! And don't worry, Mom! I'll make it up to you, I promise! I won't give up! I'll make you proud!” 

One more soft chuckle then. “You already have, sweetheart. Take care now.” With that, the line clicked off.

It had been about two months longer, before Charlie had finally heard back from her Mother. The negotiations between Lilith and her Father were a success, however unwilling he was to fully support or believe in his daughter's venture. He'd at least been willing to pony up enough expenses to cover the general move-in and set up, as well as providing a location for the Hotel. 

That space in question? Why, none other than Charlie's old childhood mansion.

Most of the personal belongings had already been moved out by the time Charlie had arrived back once more, this time alone with a pair of rolling suitcases. Aside from a few family-related portraits on the walls, and the former furnishings, everything that was directly tied to Lucifer and Lilith had been cleared away neatly. Charlie's former room was still in the same condition she'd left it, how many years ago setting out on her own, to find her place. Looks like it was at home all along...just, not in the way she'd expected.

Thus, here she was today. Running her desperate pet project on a wing and a prayer – or, whatever would constitute a prayer in her community's eyes. The majority had no interest or need for things like religion. Either way though, things...were _not_ going as well as they could be. From the time of opening, she'd managed to attract one client – who'd nearly sunk her whole project before it got off the ground – as well as an unexpected handful of staff. 

And, finally...the _one_ lone face who'd brought to the table a _tremendous_ supply of his own power and status, close enough to rival that of her family's. The one who'd actually roped in the other members to begin with, through connections and his own character. A wild card, an elegant unknown, who'd been more than willing to provide the resources to keep the Hotel afloat...though it certainly wasn't by reason of actually believing in its cause. 

However, he got some sort of enjoyment from it all, in his own weird way, and Charlie knew how to handle herself well enough. Not perfectly, goodness no. But enough to have avoided stepping into any deals with him – a trick he'd been notorious for in obtaining his status and infamy back in her homeland – and instead employing him by way of her own title and sway. Surprisingly, it had worked.

Wait...back in her homeland?

Yes. Where their Hotel was currently situated...was far from familiar. And there was a good reason for this.

Charlie's region was not the only one being swept under the rug, and crushed underfoot like a dirty little secret. There were other areas nearby, in just as dire straits. Lost, wandering souls, about to plummet over the edge face-first into the embrace of Death. Unlike her own community though, these folks weren't building entirely from the ground with nothing to their name. Their sins were fresh and new, the blood hadn't yet dried, they weren't completely see-through faded and jaded. 

It had taken a bit of finessing, but in the end, thanks to her shadowy benefactor, Charlie had been able to set up port, between this drab little city, and her own home. Getting the Hotel established, similarly enough, between two locales wasn't easy, but they'd pulled it off. For one week, they'd be present here, on the outskirts in this manor, waiting on wayward travelers. The next, they'd close up, and return to base until another new week rolled around. If they found anyone up here, they'd move them on to their original location, since...it was more convenient to work with. That's what they'd go with.

Letting out a huff, Charlie stood up from her spot, and headed towards the kitchen. Their one client, a carryover from the main hub, was nowhere to be seen here. Angel Dust, _**far**_ too well-known for his own good. Aside from already being employed as a top-notch adult film star, his long rap sheet of charges included prolific drug abuse, soliciting sex for money, and destruction of property in the vein of violent turf wars. 

How she'd managed to get him to agree in any way, shape, fashion or form to her project was nothing short of a miracle. Mostly, he'd just been in it for the free lodgings. This was basically extreme rehabilitation, and it wasn't like Charlie had set out with the intention of making money. Neither was she hurting for her own funds. Still, it had been one hell of a show when Angel had wound up in their news on the eve of the full unveiling of the hotel, teaming up with an old friend to engage in some good old-fashioned mayhem on the streets. Speaking of...

Said partner in crime, a vivacious young woman by the name of Cherri Bomb, was chatting up the bartender-slash-receptionist, Husk. She was a semi-former street warrior with punk themes, who'd turned her sights on joining Angel here for, once more, the rent-free stay. She wasn't _quite_ a client, but she'd grown comfortable since then, and occasionally helped out around the place with odd jobs...when she wasn't trying to catch anyone's attention for the wrong reasons or start a fight.

As for Husk, or Husker, he was a blunt, surly older gentleman with a penchant for booze, gambling and war stories. But, once approached, he'd been willing to work here as long as his needs were met, I.e he was bribed. At least he kept his vices in check enough to function daily. Plus, although not the most sociable, he was putingt up with Cherri's current interest, seeing as she would bother to listen to him, even while poking fun at his age. Also, she could drink like a sailor, and swear like one, too. Sometimes, just sometimes, if he'd gotten too sloppy, she'd step in for him. But only sometimes. Pleasant niceties were _not_ her strong suit.

And hey, she wasn't trying to get into his pants like Angel was all the freaking time, either. That was another bonus for Husk.

Tucked away in his room upstairs, tinkering with God knows what, one of his many mechanical inventions, was another resident, a man by the name of Sir Pentious. He was quite skilled with technology, and rather flamboyant to boot, with a serpentine presence all his own. Oddly enough, he'd been the opponent that Angel and Cherri had been facing off against when they'd all wound up on the nightly news. Taking advantage of the chaos which had been left behind by the latest Purge, it had been a free-for-all, as he'd attempted to make a name for himself. 

How had he ended up here, housed in the same residence as his supposed enemies, then? Yep, you guessed it...the easy residency. Also, the place had “just enough style and class”, two things of which he was most fond. Although he would often get into disagreements with the two troublemakers, ultimately the hotel was still standing. It also helped that her scarlet supporter had some previous experience with him, and knew how to subtly lay down the law, just in case things were to truly get out of hand. If he were looking for entertaining havoc, it wasn't from this particular source.

“Ah-ah-ah! 'Scuse me, pardon me! This is a no mud zone! Can't have any mud here! No siree!” Flying past her like a rocket pushing a mop along the wooden floors, was their little housekeeper, Niffty. She was excellent at her job...perhaps a bit _too_ much. Cleanliness was her way of life, and not a single speck of anything escaped her wide, frantically darting eyes. She could – and would – get in every which way and corner, until it was thoroughly spotless...and then, do it all again. Was this a disorder, perhaps? Or just an all-natural quirk?

Slowly, Charlie's gaze drifted across, to the last occupant of the team. The one who'd unknowingly picked her up when it had seemed like all her dreams were about to die once more, while her whole homeland was laughing in her face this time, not just her Father. The man who'd slithered in, on a wave of charming curiosity and bad intentions, but had truly brightened her spirits when she wasn't sure if she could go on. 

Whether or not he would actually bring harm in the future, she couldn't say. But the very fact that he'd sought her out to offer assistance, was more than enough for her. She just couldn't turn him away. It wasn't in her nature. Besides, a good chunk of, if not all of the employees here, were drawn in because of him.

Yes, this man. This strange, crimson-clad powerhouse, who talked like an old radio host, sharing her love for music, singing, and dance. He'd practically done these things, leading his way right into her life. This man, the likes of which so many had never seen before. His name...was A - 

That was when the door burst open. Charlie jumped where she stood, startled from her musings. Instantly, her eyes widened. Who she saw there... 

The words tumbled out with no hesitation. “Hello, and welcome to the Happy Hotel! May we help you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ['in b4 "LOL 'UNDERTALE' title".]
> 
> [ **EDIT:** Why TF is Chapter One's A/N showing up at the end here?? Or is that just how it shows up for me?]
> 
> ...and, yeah. That ends Chapter Two.
> 
> I promised Charlie would be arriving soon, so...here she is! How did this intro turn out? Seeing as the first Chapter was all Vaggie, I figured it'd be fair if the next one was mainly focused on the second half of our leads, a.k.a the daughter of the Devil himself. Hopefully, Charlie is still coming across as...well, Charlie! 
> 
> I hope it doesn't seem too...weird, the way things are set up here? It's obvious to all of us that Charlie...isn't talking about ANY sort of normal region or country here; it's Hell. She's talking about Hell. But, for the flow of this particular story, I didn't want to state explicitly off the bat that Charlie & crew are visiting from down below. There's a reason for this delay in revelation; it WILL eventually be stated up-front, just, that time is not now. Hopefully, that's understandable enough?
> 
> Also, Charlie's characterization, & the introduction of the other players involved? I know, they were brief, & some of these people don't even live at the Hotel to begin with. If I can be frank here? I blame the YouTube 'HuniCast' streams ENTIRELY for their inclusion. I had/have SO much fun watching those, that I just couldn't STAND not having more of the cast involved. 
> 
> Besides, it IS an AU...&, who's to say, in future installments of the show, that these guys WON'T wind up there, anyway? Like I said before, this ISN'T canon, or meant to be. It's just a potential 'What If'. 
> 
> Alrighty then. Time to wrap this up. [watch me ramble instead /s] I started work on Chapter Three, but haven't finished it. TBH...I'm not sure what's gonna happen from here. I mean, I have the basic idea of how I want this story to go, down to the very end. But...life has just been really rough recently, both with what's happening in the world, as well as in my own neck of the woods. 
> 
> And, as much as I believe in writing for yourself...part of why we share our works online, is to have that interaction with others, & to receive that feedback/attention. Whether people have good or bad things to say, at least it shows you that they care. 
> 
> But, when it's so quiet like this...that's when my anxiety starts getting the better of me. I don't really know what to think; is my writing just THAT awful, that people don't know what to say? Have I lost my touch for writing Femslash/Shojo-Ai/Yuri? Or, am I just wasting my time trying to write this story, & put it out there? Should I just give up, & let it die? I mean, I have other ideas I've toyed with for this series, with different main pairings/characters in focus, too. Perhaps I'd be better off working on those instead.
> 
> Writing is one of the only things I feel like I've EVER been any sort of 'decent' at. English was my saving grace, all throughout my years in school. It's a field where I may ACTUALLY have a chance at establishing a career. That's why I treasure the feedback on my stories so much. It's a good way to both improve upon my 'skills', as well as prepare me for the inevitable routine of receiving critique, if I/once I start submitting works for publication. 
> 
> So, I welcome it all. Short or long, signed in or anonymous, spell-checked or in text speak, English or otherwise. It's all fine by me. It's just...nice, to know that people are reading my work, & that I'm reaching SOMEbody; that at least ONE person out there is responding to what I create. If I can make just ONE person happy...then I'm good. Plus, friends. It's always nice to bond with others over shared interests. 
> 
> I'll stop whining now. Take care everyone. Be safe out there.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo...this is a thing that happened. Yeah.
> 
> Greetings, everyone. First-time poster, & still a newbie user. I got into fanfic through eff-eff dot net, & have been posting there for YEARS. I was a bit scared to check out this place though, even after getting an account. Even now, I'm trying to get familiar with the system.
> 
> HOWEVER... 'Hazbin Hotel' came along. And I finally had to give this site a shot.
> 
> I wasn't expecting to get into the series as heavily as I did [even with only one episode!], but here I am now, with both a fresh story & my first entry here at AO3. I just...I LOVE the art style; it reminds me of old comics I used to draw, & have thought about bringing back to work on, multiple times. The storyline is absolutely amazing, & the addition of musical numbers - & non-cringeworthy, grown-up ones, at that - makes me smile SO much [I adore things like 'Rocky Horror']. Plus, the characters are so vibrant & full of life [despite being in Hell, LOL]. And, I got me a bit o' a soft spot for dark humor. 
> 
> Not only that, but this is...my first Femslash fic in, like...jeez, going on eight YEARS now? Here's hoping I'm not too rusty. 
> 
> AUs have always been my thing, though even with a bit more creative freedom, I'm still attempting to keep this familiar? It's a tale that focuses on the idea of Vaggie, being the most recent of the occupants to Hell, not having shown up until AFTER the Happy Hotel/Hazbin Hotel was established, & basically offering a [fictitious] glimpse into a possible life story for her. Obviously, none of this is canon, & I don't claim it to be. 
> 
> This was actually originally a one-shot Femslash idea for another fandom, based off of a different song, that I came up with...oh, about ten YEARS ago now? When I started getting the itch to write again, specifically for this series & its main canon pairing, for whatever reason, the plot bunny came back to me. And the more I pondered, the more it felt like...this could actually REALLY fit, with the themes of this world & its characters, even as an AU. So, I took a chance...& here we are now.
> 
> Sorry for such a depressing intro, & Vaggie...not quite being herself just yet? I imagine here, that it took a bit of time & specific circumstances/experiences to truly shape her into how we know her in-series, so just...please be patient with me? SOME of these events/places/descriptions are very, very, _VERY_ loosely based on personal experience. Just loosely. Also, I know Charlie isn't shown here yet, either, but don't worry; she'll be making her grand entrance soon enough, along with everyone else.
> 
> [An extra aside: please enjoy my silly custom ship names in the tags, because I have too much time on my hands. They won't catch on, but eh. I think they're cute.]
> 
> So...yeah. I think that's about it, for now. I guess, just...whatever feedback you may have, good, bad, or otherwise, send it my way. Whether you'd like to see more of this story, or not. Like I said, I'm still trying to figure out how everything works here, so chances are I'll have to go back & edit this MANY times over. I'm not really used to handling coding, either. 
> 
> If you see any errors, feel free to point them out, just...please be nice? I am a rather timid rodent, & I'd really like to make a go of having some sort of presence here as well. This site seems to have more modern, niche series, like web-related, which means that I may find myself around here for more than just 'Hazbin' soon enough, since a good chunk of my interests are online nowadays. 
> 
> And, well...part of posting works, for me, is not just building an audience, but making friends. That's what I look forward to the most, more than any sort of popularity, though I won't lie & say that it isn't nice to have lots of people enjoy your content. I may be a coward, but I am also an entertainer at heart. I can't help it. 
> 
> Until next time [if there is one; I have at least one more Chapter completed, & a third In-Progress], take care, & stay safe, everybody. I know things seem REALLY scary in the world right now...but don't worry, we'll get through it together.


End file.
